


Carouse

by Drarryismymuse (Hatchersn)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Face-Fucking, Harry Potter/Original Male Character - Freeform, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn/pseuds/Drarryismymuse
Summary: Carouse (verb): To drink plentiful amounts of alcohol and enjoy oneself with others in a noisy, lively way.Harry finds himself using alcohol in increasingly dangerous ways to cope with the stresses of life. When he is put on leave from work to sort out his issue, he instead falls head first into a lively club scene where he can drink and fuck his worries away. That is, until a certain blond from his past reappears and throws off his entire routine.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 164
Collections: HD Wireless 2020





	Carouse

**Author's Note:**

> Song prompt: Dead by Madison Beer - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_564q9Bwjuc
> 
> I need to thank my biggest cheerleader and task master, G, for never letting me give up AND offering invaluable Alpha skills.
> 
> I also need to thank my beta, B, for helping me clarify words and phrases and always being so accommodating to my chronic procrastination. I seriously would not be even half as put together without their help!
> 
> Lastly, the mods of this fest are some of the best mods in this fandom, without their constant support and understanding this fic would never have been completed.

Harry slowly began rising through the stages of waking, first becoming aware that he was once again in control of his mind before being hit with a few sensations at once: a splitting headache, nausea, and regret. He barely made it to the edge of the bed before he sicked up on the floor, the retching making his head feel as if someone was repeatedly shoving a pickaxe in it. 

Groaning, he rolled back onto his mattress and tried to think around the pain in his head. He was pretty sure he needed to be somewhere today, he just couldn’t quite sort out where. _Bugger, where is a House Elf when you need one_ he thought miserably before crawling off his bed and towards his en suite. 

He didn’t dare turn on the light and instead rooted around in the washroom cupboard until he found the vial he was looking for: hangover potion. He tossed the potion down his throat in one swallow and slapped his hands over his mouth to hold in the retch that threatened to bring it back up. 

Finally, _finally,_ the potion settled in his stomach and he felt the soothing sensations spread throughout his body, dispelling the after effects of too much drink. He had slumped to the bathroom floor while he waited the requisite five minutes for the potion’s full effect to kick in and as his head dulled to a simmering ache he remembered: he was due back at work today.

_Fuck._

~

The last few months—truthfully, the last few years—had been difficult for Harry. When the war ended five years ago he had felt as if his life was sorted and all he needed to do was start it. After all, he had completed the mission he was born to undertake and in the process had found everything he always wanted: friends, family, and a girlfriend. He was free to ride off into the sunset of happiness—or whatever bullshit he told himself at the time.

For the first couple of years everything seemed to be working out as planned. Year one, Harry lived in the Burrow. It made sense since Ginny and Hermione were back at Hogwarts finishing their last year and he and Ron were both in Auror training and not yet making much money. Besides, after the loss and traumas of the war it was good to be in comfortable surroundings with family for a while.

Molly had doted on both boys endlessly for the entire year. Even now, Harry missed the meals: a hearty breakfast every morning, lunches packed to the brim with home cooking, and a veritable feast every night. Between the meals and Auror training, he gained back the weight he had lost the year prior and even added on muscle. He had looked and felt great.

Year two, Ginny finished school and was picked up as a reserve Seeker for the Scottish National Quidditch team. She and Harry rented a quaint cottage in upper Scotland so Ginny would have easy access to her team and training facility and Harry was just a short Floo trip from the Ministry. 

He and Ron had both completed Auror training and, thank Godric, had been assigned as partners. The first couple of cases they were given were pretty innocuous and Harry found he enjoyed the more mundane tasks of responding to house calls and the occasional burglary in Diagon. Eventually though, he and Ron were assigned to more dangerous cases that, unsurprisingly, they handled really well given their history.

So in year three when he first started having nightmares he told himself to suck it up. Sure, work had become quite stressful and he had started to develop a tightness in his chest every time he and Ron were sent into an active scene. But... he was Harry Potter, the _Chosen One_ , he could handle it. In the beginning, Ginny would wake him with a cup of tea and would stay up with him; they talked, they played Exploding Snap, they fucked. Even now, he had fond memories of those early days, when youth and love and naivety were enough. 

Then came year four. 

Year four was the beginning of his end. 

Ginny was promoted to lead Seeker of the Scottish National team, which meant longer practice hours, more team meetings, and lengthy publicity tours. Harry was ecstatic for Ginny, he really was, but she had started sleeping in the guest room because she couldn’t afford the lost sleep Harry’s nightmares caused. Now, he woke alone and soaked in sweat, dreading the long wait for morning. 

It was then he first began drinking. If he woke from a nightmare, which happened more often than not, he would sit in the front room of their cottage and sip Firewhisky until either the sun rose and he had to get ready for work, or he managed to pass out on the couch for a couple extra hours of restless sleep. During the first few months, if he dreamt of something particularly horrible he would go to Ginny, and though she tried to be understanding he could see her frustration and annoyance so he stopped. He and Ginny had begun drifting apart and he didn’t know how to fix it, or if he even wanted to.

The tightness in his chest he had typically only felt during a mission had blossomed into a tightness every time he walked into the Auror department. Worse still, when he found himself in a situation where he had to quickly pull his wand he would become short of breath and dizziness would sometimes overwhelm him. Once, he had completely froze when he and Ron had been unexpectedly attacked. Harry and Ron never spoke about it, but Harry knew that if Ron hadn’t been so calm and competent, Harry would be dead. 

Year four after the war wasn’t done with him yet.

Harry was encouraged to see a Mind Healer to work through the issues causing him stress during missions and altercations, but he didn’t want to go to one. He didn’t think he needed a Mind Healer, he just needed some time to figure it out on his own. He hated the looks of pity everyone gave him when he had to stop to catch his breath or shake out a hand that had gone inexplicably numb; so he told everyone he was seeing a Mind Healer—except, he wasn’t. 

When Ginny found out he had been lying to her for three full months about seeing a Mind Healer they had a row that nearly brought the house down. That was the first—but not the last—time they went an entire week without so much as uttering one word to each other. Harry figured he should have been devastated that she refused to talk to him, but really all he had thought was that his week wasn’t much different than usual.

Year four after the war, Harry and Ginny split. 

It hadn’t been working for a while and they had been living increasingly separate lives: Ginny was living it up as the breakout star of the Scottish National team and Harry was staying in and drinking alone, wishing for sleep.

In the end, they didn’t even have a big, dramatic breakup. They just sort of… fizzled. 

Harry packed his few belongings and left the quaint cottage. He couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the Burrow, especially not immediately after ending things with Ginny, so he went to the only other place he knew—Grimmauld. 

Year five after the war and Harry was now twenty-three, living alone in his dead Godfather’s decrepit and dreary house, and unwittingly becoming more dependent on alcohol to cope with life. When he had a nightmare now, he would spend the wee hours of the morning pacing the floors with a bottle of Firewhisky—he didn’t bother with glasses anymore—in hand. 

Sometimes it soothed him to picture Sirius pacing the same floors with the same bottle in hand; it almost made him feel that Sirius _was_ there and perhaps he wasn’t as lonely and pathetic as he felt.

~

Harry pushed himself off the bathroom floor and stumbled back into his room. He grabbed his wand and cast a _Tempus_ : 9:17am.

“Fuck!”

He scrambled through his room trying to find something clean to wear. This was great, just great. Coming off a two-week mandatory vacation hungover and late was _not_ a good look, especially considering this entire vacation had been made mandatory after he had shown up to work more dishevelled than not, more times than not.

Harry rounded his bed to grab his shoes and saw the puddle of sick on the floor. Angry at himself, he cast a _Scourgify_ so powerful that he bleached a spot of the rug completely white. He grabbed his shoes and thundered down the stairs and into the sitting room, quickly conjuring a fire in the Floo and jumping straight in to get to the Ministry. 

He shot clumsily out of a Floo in the Ministry lobby and landed hard, skidding out on his arse and attracting a lot of sideways glances. Ignoring everyone, he sprang up and dashed to the lifts, skipping the line and jumping on the first available one. He made it to Robards’s office at exactly 9:34 am.

For a solid minute, Harry and Robards stared at each other without saying a word, Harry’s ragged breath echoing in the silence. Harry refused to break eye contact first.

“Please sit, Harry,” Robards said firmly.

Harry shuffled to the seat closest to him, trying not to show his frazzled nerves. He sat and quickly shoved his feet into his shoes, not bothering to lean down to tie them. He then took a deep breath and sat up straighter in the chair before looking at Robards with a forced ease.

Robards leaned back in his chair with his hands folded, his pointer fingers steepled into a rest for his chin, and scrutinized Harry. “So. The two weeks didn’t seem to help much, huh.” It wasn’t said as a question and Harry gritted his teeth to keep from squirming. “Harry, I don’t want to—”

“Sir, if I may,” Harry interrupted, “I just lost track of time last night. I spent the time off relaxing, like you asked, and I just happened to meet some friends out last night and—”

Robards held up his hand with his palm facing Harry to stop his rambling. “You didn’t go to the Mind Healer we assigned you.”

“Well, no, but I did tell you before that I didn’t need to see a Mind Healer; I’m fine.” Harry kept his gaze steady, the consistent clenching and unclenching of his jaw the only indication that he didn’t quite feel the confidence he was projecting. 

“We’ve been through this, Harry, many times. You know the Mind Healer wasn’t optional this time.”

“But _I_ told you I was fine and that should be good enough.” Harry knew he was pouting (he itched to cross his arms) but he couldn’t help himself. He knew what Robards was going to say and he didn’t want to hear it.

“As of right now, you are being put on paid administrative leave. Indefinitely. Your return will be contingent on the weekly progress reports from the Mind Healer that you _will_ see. Otherwise, you won’t be coming back.”

Harry jumped up from the chair in consternation. “This isn’t fair, Gawain! I’m a good Auror— _fuck’s sake_ —I saved the Wizarding World!” Harry brusquely scrubbed a hand through his hair as he continued in frustration, “Without me, YOU probably wouldn’t even be here.” Harry began pacing the office while Robards watched him stoically from his seat. “What’s the _Prophet_ going to say about this, do you think? I can see it now:” Harry spread his arms above his head as if highlighting a marquee, “ _Harry Potter goes batty and gets punted from the Aurors; visit him at the Janice Thickey ward for 3 Galleons an hour!”_

Harry concluded his outburst and turned expectantly towards Robards, who was still sat at his desk, unmoving and face impassive. Harry deflated and slumped back into the chair, thoroughly exhausted.

“The official press release will state that you are on Sabbatical and no other information will be forthcoming. Harry,” Robards’s face softened, “this isn’t a punishment. Sure, I’m invested in you as an Auror, but more importantly, I’m invested in you as a _person_. I will do whatever I can to help you through this; you understand that, right?”

Harry scoffed and stood before moving abruptly to the door. He paused, his head down and his hand hesitating on the handle. “This is truly the only option?” 

“It’s not an option, Harry. It’s an order.”

Harry clenched his jaw and threw open the door, stalking out of the office and back towards the bank of Ministry Floos.

~*~

Harry had been at the club for nearly two hours and was on the very far side of tipsy. Since his split with Ginny, he had been with both men and women. He typically didn’t have a preference and chose his partners based on whoever caught his eye, but some nights he knew exactly what he wanted and went wherever he needed in order to get it. 

Tonight, he felt like getting fucked.

He had decided to check out a Muggle gay club, Carouse, that had only been open for a couple of months but was already making big waves in the gay scene for having accommodations inside the club for the discerning bloke looking for a quick fuck and flee.

He had dressed in a tight emerald t-shirt and dark jeans, a combination that he knew would get him noticed—and, in fact, he had been getting a good amount of attention from blokes, but no one had really piqued his interest. He was currently taking a break from the dance floor and leaned against the bar sipping a cocktail that the bartender insisted someone had ordered for him.

Harry was nearly done with his drink and was preparing to head back out onto the dance floor when he felt someone press in close next to him. The club was crowded and everyone had brushed against everyone else all night, so he didn’t give it a second thought until the hairs on the back of his neck rose and a shiver raced down his spine as the person leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Did you enjoy your drink?” 

The voice was husky and warm and Harry shivered again—this time in arousal. He slowly turned to face the bloke and swallowed hard when he saw how attractive the man was. “I-I did, thanks.”

“My name’s Justin. What’s yours?”

“Har-ry.”

He had barely managed to croak his name out. He had always thought of himself as confident in his dating life and he rarely got nervous around potential paramours, but for some reason, he found himself suddenly jittering with nerves. 

“Dance with me, Harry?” His name came out like a whispered promise. He didn’t know what exactly the promise was, but he knew he wanted it. He didn’t trust his voice at the moment so he just nodded and prickled with anticipation as Justin guided him to the middle of the dance floor and pulled him in tight, starting an undulating sway that went straight to Harry’s crotch.

Harry had been half hard since the first whisper of Justin’s voice ghosted across his ear, but now, with Justin pressed tightly against him and one leg grinding in between his, he was fully hard.

Mere minutes into the close, grinding dance, Justin lightly grasped Harry’s chin and quirked a brow at him. In answer, Harry tipped forward and brushed his lips across Justin’s. Justin deepened the kiss and then nibbled a trail across Harry’s jaw, holding him close while simultaneously tilting Harry’s head back to suck a trail down his neck. Harry whimpered as he felt a small wet patch dampen his pants; he was so incredibly turned on. 

As their dancing became more erratic, and erotic, Harry wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep himself from coming. He leaned his forehead against Justin’s shoulder while they continued to move in tandem, his hands roaming down the other man’s body while he tried to think of the smoothest way to invite Justin into a more intimate encounter.

Thankfully, his internal ruminations were cut short when Justin leaned in close to his ear and asked if he would like to move off the dance floor. His hand trailed down Harry’s abdomen and he cupped Harry’s cock through his jeans as he waited for a response. Harry’s head rolled back in pleasure before he reigned himself in enough to snap his head forward and nod in agreement. 

Justin grabbed Harry’s hand and quickly led him away from the dance floor and toward a darkened hallway Harry hadn’t previously noticed. They walked down the hall, which had a regular series of doors lined along both sides, while Justin tried every knob before finding one unlocked. Clearly, these were the private rooms provided by the club and Harry was very interested in what lay behind the door.

Justin pushed Harry into the small dim room and turned to close and lock the door. Harry quickly took in the contents of the room: a sink, love seat, and a small table holding two bowls filled with little packets. He didn’t get a chance to inspect the packets before Justin was on him again, pressing him toward the love seat and then pushing him down into a seated position so he could straddle Harry’s lap. 

They spent a few minutes kissing and exploring each other; Harry marvelling at the width of Justin’s shoulders, Justin running his fingers through Harry’s hair. Slowly, Justin began sliding off of Harry’s lap and onto the floor in front of him. Harry attempted to follow with his mouth until the distance was too great. He looked at Justin in confusion until Justin coquettishly cut his eyes up at him and nodded toward the zip of his jeans. 

Harry sucked in a breath and quickly gave consent. Justin hungrily grabbed at the button and zip of Harry’s jeans and the two men fumbled as Harry tried to lift his pelvis off the cushions while Justin tried to yank his trousers and pants down. They finally managed the task and Harry shuddered as the cool air of the room hit his hot, heavy cock. The nerves he had felt earlier in the night were gone, replaced with a deep craving—he wanted Justin to suck his cock, he wanted it very much.

“Fucking hell, Harry. You’ve got a fantastic cock,” Justin moaned the words out before leaning forward and grasping the base of Harry’s cock while enveloping the head in his warm mouth. Harry’s head thunked backwards into the wall behind the love seat and he shut his eyes tight as sensations flooded his system. As Justin began a steady rhythm of sucking while bobbing up and down Harry’s shaft, following each pass with a rub and twist of his hand, Harry began to whimper as his balls tightened. He knew he wouldn’t come yet, but he was much closer than he usually would be with just a blowjob.

Instinctively, Harry began pumping his hips in a search for something… _more._ He decided he needed to make a move to let Justin know that he wouldn’t mind if he wanted to fuck him. As if reading his mind, Justin released Harry’s cock and rapidly stood while unbuttoning his trousers. 

“What do you want, Harry? I’m good to either top or bottom.” Justin said as he pushed his trousers down and pulled out his cock, giving it a few swift wanks.

“Bottom. I definitely want to bottom.” Harry bit his lower lip as he watched Justin’s hand, mesmerized by the cock bobbing within it.

Justin chuckled lightly, “Eager, huh? Good, I like eager.” He lowered himself down across Harry’s lap once again and lined their cocks up side-by-side, grasping both of them in his hands and pumping up and down slowly, so agonizingly slowly. He leaned forward and began nipping and sucking at Harry’s neck, one hand still slowly stroking their cocks while the other played with and pulled Harry’s hair. 

Suddenly, Justin leaned and reached over to the table that held the two bowls and grabbed one of the small packets. He ripped the corner of the packet and squeezed a good amount of lube into his palm. Harry was intrigued; he had been with enough Muggles to know about bottles of lube and condoms, but he had never seen such convenient packaging. Craning his neck toward the table, he now saw that the bowl Justin had taken from was full of individual packets of lube and the second bowl held condoms. Harry smiled to himself; Muggles sure did have handy ways to not let the lack of magic stop them from having their fun.

“On your knees, Harry,” Justin said.

“Pardon?” Harry asked, a little surprised. 

Justin chuckled again and smiled warmly at Harry. “I would like you to turn around and kneel on the love seat. Spread your knees far apart. I’m going to touch your arse and get you slicked up and ready for my cock. I want you to really enjoy this, Harry.”

Harry cast a wandless, wordless cleansing charm on himself as he stood and pushed his trousers completely off of his legs before kneeling on the love seat and spreading his knees. He felt incredibly exposed, but also incredibly sexy. 

Justin leaned against Harry’s back and began kissing his neck and shoulders as his lubed hand began trailing down Harry’s crack. Harry shivered as cold lube was dumped unceremoniously in his crack, but quickly got back into the groove as Justin continued kissing him and began rubbing each of Harry’s arse cheeks, slowly moving to the centre. 

Harry instinctively pushed back to increase the pressure from Justin’s fingers and took advantage of the extra space in front of him to stroke his cock a few times, sending a flood of pleasure through him from the dual sensations.

Justin chuckled against his shoulder, “So eager.” Harry merely grunted in response and began a rhythm of short thrusts to increase the friction on both his arsehole and his cock. “I suppose that’s my cue.” Justin slowly pressed one finger into Harry, pausing when Harry tensed and proceeding when he relaxed again. 

After a few moments of moving around and letting Harry adjust to the single intrusion, Justin added a second finger and began loosening him in earnest. Harry cried out when Justin hit the most sensitive spot inside his arse. His face flushed and he leaned back against Justin, inviting more intrusion.

Harry was ready. His cock was aching with the need for release and he was becoming impatient with the tentative thrusts of the fingers in his arse. In a fit of agitation, he swung his head around and demanded to be fucked. Justin whimpered and reached for a condom from the small table. He ripped the packet open with his teeth and fumbled the condom out. In one practised move, he rolled the condom down his cock and then grabbed another lube packet and quickly squirted it down the length of his shaft. After a few swift twists to spread the lube, he pushed Harry into the back of the love seat with one hand while guiding his cock to Harry’s prepped entrance with the other. 

Justin groaned as he sank into Harry’s heat. Harry bit down on his arm and concentrated on breathing and relaxing; this is exactly what he needed.

“I’m not going to be able to hold on for long, Harry, so come with me,” Justin gritted out through clenched teeth. He set a brutal pace that Harry managed to match thrust-for-thrust. Propping himself up with one hand, Harry wanked himself with the other. 

He adjusted the curve of his back to allow his prostate to be brushed with each thrust. The sensation was almost too much but he was unwilling to back off. “I’m-I’m…” he stuttered out before he completely lost control and erupted all over the back of the love seat, his arse clamping down on Justin’s cock.

Seconds later, Justin came with a strangled cry. He pumped wildly into Harry before collapsing against his back. Harry’s head was being pressed into the wall and the plastic covering on the couch was sticky on his heated skin, but he was too tired to move or even shake off Justin’s weight from his back. 

After a few quiet moments, Justin pushed himself off of Harry and rolled the condom off his cock, tossing the spent latex into the nearby bin. Harry flipped over and stretched out on the love seat, taking care to avoid his jizz, while he smiled sleepily at Justin. 

Justin, clearly having been here before, headed to a small cupboard over the sink and opened it to reveal canisters of sanitizing and body wipes. He grabbed two body wipes and one sanitizing wipe and came back to Harry. “I’m sure others are keen to use this room.” He handed a body wipe to Harry and then unashamedly started wiping himself down.

Harry startled, “Oh. Right.” He blushed in embarrassment as he scrambled off the couch and turned his back to wipe himself down. He’d clean again with a charm as soon as he could, but this was a decent alternative in the meantime. When he turned around again, he found Justin using the sanitizing wipe to clean Harry’s spunk off the back of the couch and it finally dawned on Harry why the thing was covered in plastic—clever Muggles.

While Justin finished wiping the couch down, Harry sorted through their clothes and began dressing, laying Justin’s clothing on the seat so he could dress once he was done cleaning. 

Once he had his clothes on, Justin pulled him close and kissed him deeply. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Harry. I hope to see you around here again.” And with that, he unlocked the door and slipped out into the dark hallway. 

Harry was still feeling a hazy buzz from the fuck, but it was waning fast and he noticed his alcohol buzz had worn off. Not wanting to lose this feeling, he exited the room, narrowly avoiding a tangle of two oblivious men who had been beelining it to the newly open room, and headed straight for the bar and ordered two double shots.

~

Harry became vaguely aware of a bothersome, consistent banging sound and as he woke further he realized he had been hearing the sound for quite some time, even in his sleep. He groaned and rolled over in bed; he didn’t know what time it was but based on the amount of light filtering in through his bedroom window, he knew it was too early for visitors. He groped around on the bed next to him and upon locating his second pillow, he pulled it over his head to block the light and snuggled back in to sleep.

“Harry James Potter!”

Harry startled violently, his arm shooting out and knocking various bottles, cans, and other trash from his bedside table. He sat up quickly and squinted toward his bedroom door. His heart rate began to level out immediately when he recognized the fuzzy shape of Hermione’s hair and body.

“Fuck’s sake, Hermione! Are you trying to get us both killed?” Harry asked, full-on grumpy now that the adrenaline spike had drained and he was left exhausted and feeling ill. 

“I knocked for 15 minutes! I ended up spelling a rock to rap on your door for the majority of that time just to spare my knuckles. I assume you forgot our brunch date?” Hermione had definitely been peeved when she had burst into Harry’s room, but now was looking around the messy space and he could see (thank Merlin he had located his glasses while she chastised him) that she was softening.

Harry didn’t like seeing that look of pity spread across her face; she was trying to mask it, but that only made him feel worse. “Look, ‘Mione, I’m sorry,” he rubbed a hand across his face, “do you mind maybe just making a cuppa and waiting downstairs while I take a quick shower?” His head ached and his stomach was rolling but he knew a shower and some food would help.

Hermione looked around the room once more and then nodded. Once she left, Harry rushed into his en suite and started the shower. He stood facing himself in the mirror and was struck with how haggard he looked. He was twenty-three but right now, sleep-deprived and puffy from alcohol, he could easily pass for late 30s.

He showered quickly, using a shearing spell on his overnight beard growth because it was much faster than a traditional shave, and then brushing his teeth before getting out of the shower and shaking most of the water off himself. He blasted a quick drying charm on his body (but not his hair, that spell always made his hair intractably poofy) and then searched his wardrobe for a clean pair of briefs. 

Of course, his briefs drawer was empty. He shrugged, it wouldn’t be the first time he had to go commando when he had failed to do laundry in a timely manner. He switched gears and rifled through the piles of clothes on his floor until he found a pair of jeans and a shirt that didn’t look too wrinkly and smelly. He freshened them with a charm and then dressed quickly. A brief glance in the mirror showed that his shower had knocked a few years off his face; he hoped brunch and then a nap would knock the rest off.

He trotted lightly down the stairs and into the kitchen to collect Hermione so they could head out to their favourite brunch spot, but stopped short when he saw her sitting at the table. She had a mug of tea clasped in her hands and another mug of dark, strong tea sitting across from her. She didn’t have to say a word—Harry knew she wanted to talk. 

His eyes darted to the exit as he considered just running back upstairs and barricading himself in his room. Unfortunately, Hermione could read him as well as he could read her. “Harry,” she said evenly, her tone indicating she would follow him if he ran. She always did; he loved her for it… and sometimes he even hated for it.

With a heavy sigh, Harry sat at the table and immediately took a scalding gulp of the tea she had made for him. “Hermione, I know what you’re going to say, and I’m fine. Really.” Harry took another gulp of tea and winced at the heat travelling down his oesophagus. Thankfully, his stomach was handling it well.

Hermione didn’t say anything for a moment, just studied Harry as if she was dissecting him; he was proud of the fact that he didn’t squirm. “I’m worried, Harry,” Hermione paused, as if she was deciding on a quick change of direction, “not worried that you’re a danger to yourself or anything—worried that you don’t see how bad things are becoming.” 

Harry’s eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. “What do you mean?” Harry looked around, sure there were dishes piled in his sink and he knew she had noted the state of his bedroom, but honestly, who cleaned their bedroom every day anyhow?

“I… Well, it’s been two weeks since you were put on leave from work—”

“Sabbatical,” Harry interrupted. 

Hermione gave him a grim look. “See, this is what I mean.”

Harry forced a chuckle. “Yeah, obviously—chill out ‘Mione, it was a joke.”

Hermione took a deep breath in through her nose before continuing, “You haven’t gone to the Mind Healer. Ron and I are worried, and despite what you think, a lot of people have noticed that you’re not exactly yourself lately.”

“What did Ron say?”

“Harry, you’re focusing on the wrong thing here. Ron didn’t ‘say’ anything, but I can see he’s worried; he misses you.”

“I see him all the time.”

“You know what I mean,” Hermione paused and the two of them just stared at each other. 

Eventually, Harry hung his head and focused on his tea instead of Hermione. “I know I’m messy… in more ways than one, but you just don’t understand—I don’t want to see a Mind Healer. I don’t need it; I can deal with this myself, I just need a little more time.” Harry looked up, imploring Hermione with his eyes. “Honestly, I can.”

Hermione took a sip of her tea. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Harry echoed.

“Ready for brunch?” Hermione stood and grabbed her purse from the bench next to her.

Harry gulped the last of his tea and stood as well, glad that this was over and he was minutes away from a double order of bacon and hash. Harry smiled when Hermione flicked her wand and set the dishes to washing before starting up the stairs.

~*~

Harry lay on the cushy sofa in the front parlour of Grimmauld, idly flipping through the channels on the telly he had installed shortly after he had moved in. It sometimes went a little wonky due to magical interference, but it didn’t bother Harry, and he had discovered an added bonus of being able to access every channel, even the premium ones, without a subscription. 

He ended up stopping on a show he hadn’t seen before on one of the premium channels. Five minutes into the show and the only two characters that had been introduced so far were engaged in a sex scene so racy he was surprised he hadn’t actually stumbled upon a pornography channel—he actually checked just in case. 

He had been laying on the sofa steadily sipping on Firewhisky for the majority of the day and was feeling very light and a little wobbly—a heady combo that, combined with the scene on the telly, was beginning to make his cock harden. He lazily looked around him for his wand so he could conjure some lube. After all, a big perk of living alone was being able to wank whenever, wherever. 

However, at this moment, he couldn’t find his wand. He thought about standing to see if he was laying on it, but that seemed like a lot of effort, and besides, the scene on the telly had changed and no longer featured frenzied bodies. He settled back down to continue watching, but a persistent ache in his groin reminded him that not all parts of his body was content to sit back doing nothing for another night.

He stood—sure enough, he had been laying on his wand—and steadied himself with a hand on the armrest of the sofa; the sudden change in his posture had sent the alcohol streaming through his body directly to his head. He palmed his slightly turgid cock through his joggers and was disappointed to find that though it was pleasurable, it wasn’t what he actually wanted.

He wanted someone else’s touch. He wanted Carouse.

He knew he was in no shape to Apparate and _definitely_ in no shape to Floo somewhere close by, so he changed quickly and jogged down the front steps of Grimmauld. Any time he wanted to call a taxi he always had to go out on the street—Muggles obviously could never find his house. 

Twenty minutes later, he entered Carouse still fairly drunk from his lazy day on the sofa, but he knew he could handle a few more. And besides, one just didn’t go to a club to pull someone for a lay and _not_ drink. So, he made a beeline for the bar and ordered a double whisky before making his way onto the dance floor.

Bopping to the music, he slowly made one round of the dance floor looking for anyone that caught his eye and appeared available. He looked for Justin, his stomach clenching at just the thought of his last time here with that man, but he didn’t seem to be here tonight, at least not yet. Harry hadn’t found anyone else he was interested in, but he wasn’t concerned as it was still fairly early in the evening and he liked dancing anyway. He finished his drink and melted into the group on the dance floor, losing himself in the music for a while.

Nearly one hour and two drinks later, Harry found himself making out with a muscular bloke that had both arms covered in tattoos, something Harry discovered he really, really liked. They kissed and danced and grinded for a while before Harry invited him—he didn’t even know the man’s name—to the back hallway.

The music became increasingly muted as they walked down the hall, each of them trying the knobs on either side of the hallway in search of an open room. Unfortunately, they made it to the end only to discover all rooms occupied. Disappointed, but not discouraged, Harry asked the bloke if he wanted to go dance some more while they waited for a room to open.

The man grinned wickedly and Harry went a little weak in the knees when a deep dimple formed at the apex of his smile. Harry gently cupped the man’s handsome face in his hands and leaned in to kiss the dimple before following the arc down and plunging his tongue into the man’s mouth in a frenzied wave of lust. 

Harry felt himself being pushed backwards before he bumped into a wall, a wall that he was promptly pressed into as the other man ground against him. Far too soon for Harry’s liking, the man ended the kiss and flashed another wicked smile—his incredible dimple blinking into existence once more—before slowly lowering himself to his knees, his eyes never leaving Harry’s.

Harry bit his lip in arousal, eyes wide, as he watched the bloke undo his jean button and pull down the zip. He spread the opening of Harry’s jeans as far apart as they would go before pulling down his briefs, exposing Harry’s cock to the currently-deserted hallway—but that could change at any moment and the thought alone had Harry forcing back a moan.

Harry was the first to break eye contact when he involuntarily closed his as an intense wave of pleasure washed over him; the guy had taken Harry’s entire cock into his mouth in one motion. Harry first noticed the heat, like he had plunged his dick into a miniature greenhouse, before the walls of the mouth clamped around him and he made a strangled cry as the slick wetness overwhelmed him. 

His heart rate (and his cock) jumped when a door opened and two men entered the hallway, but only one of them made note of Harry’s situation. He was briefly scared the man would call him out or alert the club staff, but he merely winked at him and moved along. Before Harry could even consider moving to the now-vacant room, a couple of guys came stumbling down the hallway and claimed the room, neither of them noticing the blowjob happening at the end of the hall.

At that moment, the muscular man slid Harry’s cock out of his mouth with a soft pop. “You can fuck my throat, if you want.” His voice was husky from the sucking and deepthroating he had already been doing and, sensing Harry’s hesitation, he added, “Seriously. It’s what I came out for tonight.” He wiped the saliva off his chin and then while looking Harry straight in the eyes he flattened his tongue and licked Harry’s shaft from base to tip.

In response, Harry clutched either side of the man’s head and tilted it back, leaning down for a quick kiss (he loved to taste himself on someone else’s tongue), before standing straight again and sliding a hand under the man’s chin to tilt his head further back. The guy on the floor opened his mouth wide and stuck his tongue out. 

Harry rubbed his thumbs up and down the man’s cheeks, dipping briefly into the divot of his dimple that apparently also came out when he waited, mouth stretched wide and ready, on his knees for a cock. Harry had always been an accommodating person and he wasn’t planning to change that today.

Harry groaned, deep and guttural, as he plunged his cock into the waiting mouth in front of him. _Merlin, this was so much better than wanking._ He was occasionally aware of men coming and going within the hallway, but other than a few cheers and whistles, he and his partner-for-the-night were unbothered.

Little beads of sweat broke out on Harry’s forehead as he dug his hands into the bloke’s hair and set a steady pace, his hips undulating as he slid in and out of the pliant throat before him. He made sure to pull completely out every few thrusts to ensure the bloke had an opportunity to breathe and swallow as needed.

The man slid his hands behind Harry and kneaded his arse, occasionally pulling him closer, deeper; it was the hottest fucking thing that Harry thought had ever happened to him. It wasn’t long before he was on the razor’s edge of coming. He pulled out and with a strained voice asked, “Where do you want me to come?” 

“In my throat.” Without pausing, the man engulfed Harry’s cock once more, his face pressing hard into Harry’s abdomen. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry panted out before stilling, the tip of his cock buried deep down the muscle bloke’s throat, and spurting hot bursts of cum. Harry had his hair clutched in his hands so tightly he knew it had to hurt, but he had no control at the moment to loosen his grip. 

He continued to smoothly thrust in and out of the man’s mouth while he rode the aftershocks of his orgasm. He wasn’t paying attention to anything but the gorgeous man wrapped around his cock, his thumb once again brushing the dimple as the man continued to gently suck and clean Harry’s cock. 

His subconscious registered a door in the hallway opening, but he paid it no mind… that is, until a faint murmur made its way down the hall and the voice was so familiar that Harry’s body reacted to it before his mind did. His heart started pounding and his throat went dry as memories triggered by the voice rushed through him. 

His head shot up—he had to be mistaken—but when he caught sight of the voice’s owner there was no mistaking that specific shade of platinum hair. Harry only knew of two people that had that distinctive colour of hair and one of them was currently securely locked in Azkaban. That meant…

Harry startled when the man still kneeling in front of him started groaning and crying out. Harry was so rattled by the blond’s sudden appearance that he had completely forgotten there was a man kneeling in front of him and that his dick was still out and damp with saliva. He looked down, still trying to catch his breath from the unexpected resurgence of his past, to find the man who had just expertly sucked him off with his cheek pressed against Harry’s hip as he wanked himself to completion. 

Harry glanced up again. “ _Damnit,”_ he whispered when he didn’t see Malfoy’s stupid hair anymore.

“So,” the guy in front of Harry stood, “my name is Noah.” He wiped saliva, and who knows what else, from his mouth and chin in a way that Harry knew he would find incredibly sexy if his mind hadn’t already left this encounter. “How about we—”

Harry cut him off, “I’m so sorry, but I have to go.” He stepped to the side so he could move around Noah. He was already tucking himself back into his briefs when he noted Noah’s crestfallen expression. _God, I’m a monster_ he thought. “Look, Noah, you were brilliant and sweet and any other night this would go further… but I just had an emergency come up and I have to go.”

“How—”

Harry cut him off again, already walking quickly away. “I’m sorry!” he bellowed as he turned and broke into a jog.

Harry burst out of the hallway and into the crowded bar and dance area. He cursed his shorter stature and, deciding this was more important than his dignity, he climbed onto a nearby booth to get a look over the entire crowd, the occupant yelling out in surprise. He stretched and looked over the top of the crowd hoping to see where Malfoy had gone. 

He cursed loudly when he didn’t catch even a flash of platinum. Maybe he had gone outside! He jumped down from the booth and quickly made his way through the throng toward the back patio; he hadn’t been out there before but he knew it existed. The space was tastefully fenced in and strung with fairy lights; this is apparently where people went to cool off or smoke or to just have a little more personal space than the club provided. However, it didn’t have a Malfoy.

Harry shoved his way back through the club and exited the front door to see if maybe Malfoy was hailing a taxi or walking off to the car park with some bloke. But, he wasn’t out there either. Harry knew he should go back into the club to find Noah and apologize but he just didn’t have it in him. Instead, he fished out his mobile and called the taxi company for a ride home.

Once he arrived home, he grabbed the half-full Firewhisky bottle from his kitchen table and took the entire thing into the parlour with him where he sat down heavily on the sofa, thinking. He stayed there, drinking and thinking, until the Firewhisky got the best of him and he nodded off on the sofa just before dawn. 

As the sun rose, a faint glow made it through the grime of his window and glinted off of a—now empty—bottle of Firewhisky sitting on its side next to the sofa.

~

The next morning, Harry woke up still on the sofa, his head and body aching. He made a mental note to ask Hermione why no one had yet invented a _preventative_ hangover potion. He rolled off the sofa, groaning from the strain, and visited the loo before heading into the kitchen to make tea.

While his tea steeped, he thought over the events of the previous evening. Before passing out last night, he had nearly convinced himself that he had imagined the whole thing; that maybe someone had managed to dye their hair almost the exact right colour… but then he would remember hearing his voice and he knew that couldn’t be fabricated. 

But, why would Draco Malfoy be at a Muggle gay club? The simple answer was obvious—and to be frank, Harry was not surprised by Draco being gay, or at least somewhere on the queer spectrum—but the less obvious answer is what haunted Harry: why Muggle? Harry supposed it could be the same reason he went to Muggle clubs so often: to avoid the notoriety he faced at Wizarding clubs. But Harry assumed Malfoy would leave the country before seeking out a Muggle lover.

That settled it: Harry had to find out what Draco was up to, and what he had been up to for the past five years. Harry briefly considered that he may be blowing this entire thing out of proportion… but then again, what if he wasn’t? He had to do something. 

Harry gulped the rest of his tea and rushed into the parlour. He grabbed a pinch of Floo powder from the mantle and tossed it into the fireplace. “The Ministry,” he said before stepping into the green flame. When he emerged into the Floo bank of the Ministry, he stepped out and immediately merged with a group of people, keeping his head down in an attempt to blend into the crowd.

He didn’t want anyone to recognize him and inevitably draw him into a long conversation that he wasn’t in the mood to have—and he sure as hell wasn’t prepared to tell anyone why he was there. Keeping his head low, and cursing himself for not having thought to grab a hooded jumper before coming to the Ministry, he got on a lift and stood inconspicuously in the back until his stop: Public Records.

He had stopped reading _The Prophet_ immediately after the war. He saw no point in keeping up with sensationalist news, especially since it was so often directed towards him. He knew he would receive any news he HAD to know through the Auror department and he simply didn’t care about anything else. 

Until now, that is. He was positive _The Prophet_ would have been as equally obsessed with Draco Malfoy post-war as they had always been with Harry. Even without reading Britain’s largest Wizarding news publication, Harry had known that the only thing people could talk about when the trials were over was the fact that he had spoken on behalf of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, and that as a result they had been given laughably (to some) light sentences. 

His brilliant idea this morning had been to scour every back-issue of _The Prophet_ over the last five years for any mention of Draco Malfoy, and he knew the Public Records department kept a growing collection of every issue in print. He didn’t breathe easy again until he made it safely within the department without being stopped by a single person. 

Usually, a person would need to speak with the receptionist to request whatever document they needed and then wait at an assigned desk for it to be brought to them—even Aurors had to follow this protocol. However, Harry had no intention of following protocol today. He knew if he requested the last five years of _The Prophet_ through official means that Gawain would hear about it before he even had a chance to look through them.

It wasn’t that he was embarrassed or ashamed of looking for information on Malfoy, he just also didn’t think it was anyone’s business, especially not his employer. Harry cast a _Disillusionment_ on himself and quietly snuck around the receptionist’s desk and into the back hallway. He hadn’t been into the records storage room before, but thankfully the hallway was short and only had one turn, at the end of which was a clearly labelled door indicating storage.

The area was marked as restricted, and for once Harry wasn’t annoyed that his name alone got him basically anything—including having top security clearance anywhere within the Ministry. He approached the door and hesitated a moment to allow his magical signature to be recognized; as soon as he heard the click of the lock disengaging he slipped quietly inside.

 _Bloody hell._ The door opened into a cavernous warehouse filled with rows upon rows of shelves, all stuffed with boxes. Harry’s stomach dropped, this was getting more complicated than he originally thought when he devised this “plan” this morning. He had no idea how he was ever going to find what he needed.

As he stood contemplating where to begin, he startled when he felt a slight tug on his shirt; he was still Disillusioned and didn’t expect anyone to notice him, not to mention he hadn’t seen or heard a single person since entering the room. He looked down and was surprised to see a House Elf dressed smartly in slacks and a tiny button-up shirt.

“Mister Harry Potter is hidden, but Dirly can see him. Is he be needing help?”

“Oh, right.” Harry was always forgetting that House Elves were essentially immune to human magic. “Uh, er, yeah, if you wouldn’t mind.” Harry had never actually seen a House Elf in the Ministry despite the fact that he knew they worked there in non-public spaces. At least Hermione had been able to lobby for reforms to be passed to ensure all House Elves were paid for their labour, both those working in homes and those working in large institutions such as Hogwarts and the Ministry.

“What is Harry Potter needing?”

Dirly had the typical high-pitched and easily heard voice of most Elves and Harry looked around furtively, wishing she would stop saying his full name. “Um, Dirly, I need to look through the last five years of the _Prophet_ … and if possible, a place to look at them where I won’t be, uh… in the way of anyone.”

Dirly gently pinched a portion of Harry’s shirt in her fingers and with a _crack_ she Apparated them into a small, bare room. “Harry Potter won’t be seen in here. Dirly will be back.” With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared from the room, leaving Harry to look around as he tried to figure out where he was. The best guess he could make was that Dirly had brought him to an old office somewhere that had clearly not been used in years—he figured he may not even be in the Public Records department anymore.

Before he could fully spiral into a panic about being so careless as to be taken to a location he didn’t know, leaving him entirely vulnerable, Dirly reappeared with a mountain of _Prophet_ issues. “When Mister Harry Potter is done, call for Dirly and she will be getting him back.”

“Thanks, Dirly, this is such a help.” Harry smiled warmly at Dirly, who blushed and stammered a response about loving her work and it was no trouble before she Disapparated with a _crack_ , leaving Harry to his task.

Thankfully, this was the easy part: with a quick spell he could search out all mentions of Draco Malfoy, which he promptly did. To his surprise, when he sorted further and removed all articles that only spoke of Draco’s involvement in the war and subsequent trial—Harry already knew all of that information—he was left with a disappointingly small stack.

After a brief perusal, Harry took stock of what he had discovered about Malfoy: he no longer lived at Malfoy Manor, he worked in finance in the private sector (the _Prophet_ had been heavily hinting that it may not be legal, but that sounded like hogwash to Harry), and he was occasionally spotted around London, but apparently did so little to attract attention that he hadn’t even been mentioned at all for the past two years.

Frustrated, Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. This was yet another of his harebrained ideas that he had rushed into without properly thinking it through and now he had gone through tons of effort for very little payoff. He suddenly felt exhausted—and dirty.

He hadn’t even changed clothes before coming here. He still had on the same outfit he had worn to Carouse. He shuddered to think what Dirly could likely smell on him. Harry sighed heavily and put his glasses back on. “Dirly?”

A sharp _crack_ announced her arrival. “Is Harry Potter needing help?”

Harry sighed, “Dirly, I hate to ask this of you, but is there any way you could return all of these and take me directly home? I know it isn’t—”

“Dirly would be happy to help Harry Potter in any way. Dirly can do this, sir.” She snapped her fingers and all issues of the _Prophet_ disappeared. She then reached out and clutched Harry’s shirt again before Apparating him into the parlour of Grimmauld.

“Thank you so much, Dirly.” 

“Dirly is happy to help Harry Potter,” she squeaked out before snapping her fingers and Disapparating.

It was only after she left that Harry wondered how she had not only known where he lived, but had been able to get him into his parlour, with neither the Ministry nor his own wards giving so much as a buzz of warning.

As Harry trudged up his stairs to shower before collapsing into bed, he pondered how the world would be if witches and wizards had even a fraction of the powers of House Elves.

~

The next morning, Harry woke fairly early (he had gone to sleep at 3:00 pm the day before and slept through the night) and Floo called for a loaner owl from the Ministry owlery. Once one arrived, he sent a quick note to Hermione asking if she could be available to meet him for lunch. He figured if anyone would know where Draco was and what he was doing, it would be Hermione.

Once the owl was out of sight, Harry went to his kitchen to make some tea and toast. He was too wired to sit and so he paced the kitchen while his tea steeped, mindlessly eating his toast while he tried to think of other ways he could find out information on Malfoy’s whereabouts. He considered sending an owl to Narcissa. Sure, it had been five years since he had seen her, but a harmless check-in would hardly be suspect. No—Narcissa would probably be too suspicious of Harry’s sudden reappearance and may tip off Malfoy, who could get spooked and run, he couldn’t involve her just yet.

Harry sipped his tea and grimaced when it burned his mouth. A sharp tap on the window had him scrambling to let the owl in— _finally_ , Hermione had answered. The owl hopped onto the inner sill and Harry eagerly snatched the note from its leg, dodging the sharp beak as it protested his quick, gruff movements. The owl squawked indignantly and took off out the window, likely returning to the Ministry owlery. 

Hermione’s note confirmed her availability for lunch and included the meeting place: a little cafe in Diagon Alley that they always enjoyed. This gave Harry an idea. He had a couple of hours to kill before he met Hermione, so he could spend that time asking around Knockturn for any information on Malfoy. Yes, this was a brilliant idea, Harry was sure of it. He gulped the last of his tea and hurried upstairs to change, impatient to get started.

~

For two hours Harry had been asking around various shops in Knockturn and all he had to show for it was a headache and a skeevy feeling down his spine. Disheartened, he trudged out of Knockturn and to the cafe to meet Hermione. He beat her there and grabbed them a table, ordering a fizzy drink for himself and a coffee for Hermione. She arrived only moments later and smiled at Harry, grateful for the waiting coffee.

She took a long sip and then sat back, eyeing Harry. “So what’s going on, Harry? I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t include Ron in this invite.”

Harry’s cheeks tinged pink and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, er, I have some questions for you that I don’t really want Ron to know about, he’ll just… well, he’ll just make a big fuss and it isn’t really a big deal at all.” Harry took a sip of his fizzy drink. “Man, I wish they sold something harder here.”

Hermione frowned at him and Harry forced back a spark of annoyance, the last thing he needed right now was judgement. “Hermione, I don’t have a problem,” Harry looked around the cafe as he tried to think of how to explain it. “I just feel anxious right now and a little something helps me calm down, okay?”

Hermione simply nodded and changed the subject. “So, what did you need to ask me?”

“How about we order food first?” Harry asked, suddenly nervous. “The usual?” He stood and started backing towards the register. Once Hermione nodded in confirmation he turned and hurried to order their sandwiches. He opted to wait for their sandwiches by the counter, actively avoiding Hermione’s gaze. He felt a little bad, but he was suddenly concerned that Hermione would think he was obsessed again, and truly he wasn’t. He had only seen a glimpse of Malfoy, that wouldn’t spark an obsession.

As soon as Harry returned to the table Hermione immediately spoke. “Harry, you’ve got me worried, what is going on?” 

“I saw Malfoy at a gay club and I can’t find any information on what he’s been doing the past five years and why he was at the club and I was hoping you would know because you know most things,” Harry paused briefly to take a breath, “and I know what you’re probably thinking, I’m not obsessed, I mean, I barely got a glimpse of him—he sounds the same though, you know—it’s just that I haven’t heard _anything_ about him in five years and that seems suspect don’t you think?” Harry finally stopped, panting. His words had come out as one long jumble and he had been looking at everything but Hermione.

When he finally turned back towards her she was staring at him, her eyes wide. The two of them sat in silence for longer than Harry thought possible. When he couldn’t take it anymore he said, “Well?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “I think it likely that he has just been laying low; I don’t find that particularly suspicious.” Harry looked at her pointedly when she didn’t continue. “I don’t know anything about what he’s been doing, but I’m sure I can research it. Are you positive this is what you need right now though?”

“What do you mean?” Harry took a bite of his sandwich, his anxiety eased now that he had come clean and Hermione didn’t appear _too_ concerned.

“It’s just… you’ve got a lot on your plate right now between work and… well, just focusing on yourself really. I think a new project right now could be overwhelming and distract you from your goals.”

Harry scoffed, “What goals? Returning to work? I don’t even know if I want that.”

“Exactly! You need time for reflection and healing and I think Malfoy may just be a distraction.”

Harry laughed. “He certainly is a distraction, but I’m positive this was meant to happen. He’s probably up to something—I was right last time, remember? I think maybe it’s fate interceding again, giving me a chance to thwart any nefarious plans.”

Hermione pursed her lips and took a bite of her sandwich. “If I look him up would you consider going to the Mind Healer?”

Harry gave her a dark look. “This is not related.”

“Right.” Hermione clenched her jaw a few times. “I’ll see what I can do, okay? Now… tell me what else you’ve been up to, how are you doing?”

Harry jumped on the change of subject and they spent the rest of lunch talking and laughing with ease.

~*~

Harry sat in the back corner of Carouse hidden in the shadows. This was the fourth day in a row he had arrived at Carouse as soon as they opened, and sat at this same corner table until close, his eyes never leaving the door. The table was assigned a server and he kept a steady stream of whisky neats coming to him throughout the night, usually resulting in him stumbling out of the club at close and calling a cab to take him home. 

Four days and still Malfoy had not shown. Harry’s brooding in the dark corner had not invited many men to approach him, but he still had to turn down multiple offers a night and he was beginning to get angry. He didn’t know why he was doing this to himself—Malfoy may have just been visiting town and would never be back, or maybe he was in a relationship with the bloke he had been in that room with.

Harry didn’t like to think of that. Even more, he didn’t like to think of _why_ he didn’t like to think of it. Harry checked his watch: two hours until close and he had not spotted Malfoy. Tonight, he wasn’t going to keep brooding in the corner. He needed a release. He threw back the remaining contents of his glass and pushed up from the table, his head swimming with the sudden movement. 

He made his way to the dance floor and melted into the middle, closing his eyes and moving to the beat. It wasn’t long before he felt hands on him; he opened his eyes to take in the bloke that had started grinding in front of him, turning to see the bloke that had also come behind him. Neither were specifically his type, but they were cute enough. Harry threw himself into the feeling, letting himself be trapped between the two men, the three of them undulating and grinding.

After about thirty minutes Harry was openly sweating and felt parched. He disentangled himself from the protesting men and gestured that he was going for a drink and would be back. He sidled up to the bar and ordered a double whisky, drinking it in three large gulps. He raised his hand to order one more and chugged that back as well. He was feeling good, if still a bit too hot.

He ripped his t-shirt off over his head and threw it to the ground before making his way back to the two men he had befriended on the dance floor. They cheered at seeing his bare chest and quickly enveloped him in between them again, hands roaming over every inch of him. He wasn’t sure what hands belonged to whom, but this was exactly what he needed. He wasn’t even thinking of Malfoy anymore, at least not much. 

The drinks mixed with the loud, thumping music and flashing lights had Harry floating in the clouds and feeling sexy. As he writhed with the men on the floor he guided one of the wandering hands to his crotch, using his own hand to press it into his hard bulge. The man in front of him smiled wickedly and winked at the guy behind Harry; he had the distinct impression that they were together and liked to pull men together, which suited Harry just fine.

As they continued to dance, so close there wasn’t even an inch of space between them, Harry closed his eyes and gave himself over to the expert manipulations of the two men. He swayed and let them unzip his jeans. His cock was fully hard, the tip sticking out of the top of his briefs. The guy behind Harry held him up and kissed and sucked his neck while the guy in front of him alternated between rubbing his cock over and under his briefs.

Harry was getting close, whimpering and thrusting his hips harder. The two blokes were now kissing each other over his shoulder. “I’m gonna—” was all he got out before he was coming, the hot spurts scorching his stomach. The two men continued to kiss each other, the one in front stroking him through his orgasm. 

When his cock finally stopped twitching the bloke in front of him leaned down and licked a stripe of cum off of Harry’s stomach before grabbing his head and kissing him deeply. “Thank you, stud,” was all he said before peeling himself from Harry and, grabbing the hand of the other man, left the dance floor, leaving Harry standing there dazed with the tip of his cock still poking out of his briefs and his chest shining with cum and sweat. 

Harry zipped his jeans and stumbled to the bar. His world was already spinning, but he needed another drink. He found an empty barstool and ordered another double.

Harry groggily opened one eye, someone had been jabbing him and calling out loudly. “Hey man, do you need me to call you a cab?” Harry was disoriented and he lifted his head (when had he laid it down?) and looked around. He was still at the bar in Carouse and the barkeep was standing directly in front of him. “We’re closed man, do you need a cab?”

Blearily, Harry nodded assent and the barkeep got a cab company on the phone. Harry was still sitting, looking around. God, he was so dizzy. 

“Do you need help outside?” The barkeep was losing patience. Even in his inebriated state, he could hear the frustration.

“Nah,” he flopped his hand in dismissal and slid off the barstool, nearly falling over. He steadied himself and weaved outside. There were still a few men lingering, some making out against the building and others waiting for cabs. When one arrived, Harry got in and managed to give the driver the address of his street before passing out in the back seat.

He awoke the next morning on a stoop three houses down from Grimmauld. Groaning, he hauled himself up; he was freezing since he had apparently never put his shirt back on. He looked around to see if any neighbours were watching him. Thankfully, the sun had just barely risen and no one appeared to be moving about yet. Embarrassed, he rushed home and crawled into his bed, falling asleep again almost immediately.

~

A couple of days had passed since Harry had woken up on his neighbour’s stoop. He had been spending those days nursing a hangover that even multiple potions hadn’t touched. At one point, he had even considered going to St Mungo’s because he had been unable to keep liquids down for a day. Ultimately though, he just waited it out in his bed cursing his inability to moderate himself.

During that time, Hermione had visited to let him know that she had been able to find information on Draco’s business. Much to Harry’s chagrin, she told him he had started a basic financial consulting business—which was rated quite highly—and everything had been filed by the book. 

She waved off Harry’s concerns when she mentioned that she was even considering booking an appointment with him so she and Ron could start investing and saving for their future children’s education. Harry was incredulous; even more so when _she_ had the audacity to roll her eyes at _him_ for telling her she was mad.

He had needled her to look into him further but she had been firm on not doing anything illegal for something of such inconsequence. Ugh.

It had been three nights since Harry had gone to Carouse. He was concerned he had missed seeing Draco during that time and it was driving him insane. Today, finally, he had felt well enough that he was planning to go out tonight. 

Something felt different about tonight: maybe it was because it was the same day of the week he had seen Malfoy last time, or maybe it was just his plucky optimism striking again. Either way, Harry was dressed in his best outfit: dark jeans, slim brown boots, an emerald silk button-up shirt, and a leather jacket compliments of Sirius’s closet.

Harry arrived at Carouse shortly after opening and claimed his usual table in the back corner. He planned to pace himself tonight and ordered a single whisky _and_ a water. He settled in to sip slowly and vibe to the music while he watched the club slowly fill. He saw the two guys he had danced with last time he was here and, laughing and blushing, declined their offer for a repeat. 

He felt it, tonight he would see Malfoy, and he was going to be ready.

Hours later, Harry was less sure of his assertion that Malfoy would be out tonight, but he hadn’t lost hope yet. He had, however, lost his one-glass-of-water-per-drink rule and was watching the club with less attentive eyes than he previously had been. He had been forced to take off his jacket due to the heat and sat now with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a few of the top buttons undone.

Harry stepped out of the loo shortly after 11:00 pm and headed to the bar to order a double whisky before returning to his corner vigil. It was during his walk through the club to get back to his table that he saw him. Harry’s heart nearly stopped and he stumbled back to his table in a daze. If being an Auror had taught him anything, it was to observe a scene before inserting oneself.

He sat back and absently sipped his whisky, his eyes unblinkingly watching Malfoy, who stood on the edge of the dance floor across the room from where Harry sat. Harry drank in the sight of Malfoy like he had been wandering through a desert for years and just now found an oasis from which he could slake his thirst.

Malfoy was taller than Harry remembered, but still just as lean—only now he was lean in a healthy, wiry way instead of the gaunt skin and bones he had been the last year of the war. He looked stunning in a pair of black, tight leather pants and a black mesh top, his pale skin catching the moving lights of the club and making him appear to glow from within. His look was completed with a solid black choker that tied into a bow in the front. Harry had a brief thought of untying the choker with his teeth. _Damn._

Harry had always been attracted to Malfoy—literally anyone who saw him was; he was conventionally attractive in every way. But Harry had not expected to be hit with such intense lust. They had a history after all, and a largely negative history at that. Harry clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes as Draco was approached by a handsome bloke who handed him a drink and leaned in close.

 _Had Malfoy even given that bloke permission to stand so close?_ Harry thought, his heart rate accelerating as he worked himself into a fit. Without thinking, he stood suddenly, his chair careening back wildly, when the man wrapped his arms around Malfoy and started kissing his neck. Malfoy was laughing, but also seemed to be subtly moving away from the man.

 _That was enough._ Harry gulped back the last of his drink and grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on as he stalked across the dance floor. He approached Malfoy from behind and threw a murderous look at the man who had been hitting on him. 

“Malfoy.” 

Harry felt a thrill rush through him as he watched Malfoy’s body slowly tense, turning to sculpted marble before his very eyes. _Gods, he missed this_. Malfoy slowly turned around, his grey eyes flashing like sharpened steel. “Potter.”

Harry couldn’t help himself, he flashed a smug smile. “Fancy meeting you here, Malfoy.”

“Is it?” Malfoy looked around the space, “It doesn’t appear you’re here with anyone else. Are you stalking me again, Potter?” Malfoy quirked a brow and Harry was nearly knocked breathless with nostalgia.

Try as he might, he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. “Again? I don’t believe I’ve ever stalked you, _Malfoy_. I simply happened to notice you and thought it would be nice to say hello.” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and Harry continued, “So… hello.” 

Harry flashed another wide smile and made to turn away, like he was done with this conversation. If he knew anything about Malfoy, he knew he wouldn’t just let this drop. “What the fuck, Potter!?” 

Harry slowly turned around. “What?”

“Five years. It’s been five years since I last had to look at your stupid scar; I find it HIGHLY unlikely you just happened to see me! How long have you been following me?” Malfoy was shrieking and garnering more attention than Harry anticipated. 

The man who had been speaking to Draco before Harry approached stepped in between the two of them. He was taller than Harry, but Harry had at least two stone of muscle on the guy and wasn’t concerned with his intervention. “Is there a problem here, mate? Sounds like my guy wants you to leave.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Your guy, huh?” He leaned around him and looked at Malfoy. “You with this bloke, Malfoy? I’d hate to intrude on your date.” Harry’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. He didn’t know why he was trying so hard to goad Malfoy, but he found he couldn’t help himself.

Malfoy’s eyes flashed murder. He stepped around the guy and grabbed Harry’s wrist, dragging him into the back hallway and leading him into the first available room before slamming the door and shoving Harry against it. “What the fuck is your problem?” 

“What makes you think I have a problem? What is wrong with me wanting to say hi to an old friend?”

Malfoy sneered, “We have never been friends, Potter. You spent years making that very clear.”

Up close, Malfoy was even more gorgeous than Harry ever imagined. His skin was so clear and smooth Harry wondered if he used some sort of charm to achieve the look. “Maybe I thought this would be a good time to clear the air.” Harry said slowly. The more he watched Malfoy, the more he wanted to see.

Malfoy sighed and touched his fingers to his forehead. “Look, I’ve spent a long time trying to move forward from the past and salvage what dignity I have. I don’t know what game you are playing here, but I don’t want to be a part of it.”

“I’m not playing any games.”

“Everything is a game to you.” Malfoy had started pacing the small room and suddenly turned back toward Harry, “Are you trying to blackmail me? Because basically everyone knows I’m gay, that’s hardly front page news anymore.”

“Oh bloody hell, I’m not blackmailing you.”

“Then what! What do you want?” Malfoy had crowded Harry against the door again, their faces just inches apart.

Harry didn’t think, he just acted. He grabbed Malfoy by the back of the neck and pulled him close, crushing their lips together. Malfoy stiffened and pressed a palm against Harry’s chest… but he didn’t push Harry away or pull back. Harry continued to kiss him, slowly plying Malfoy’s lips with his own until he tentatively softened and began responding.

As soon as Malfoy began returning the kiss, Harry wrapped his other arm around his waist and pulled him tight against him. _God Malfoy tasted like ambrosia._ Harry’s heart raced. He had been dreaming of doing this since 5th Year, maybe even earlier. Sure, he had always kinda hated Malfoy, but blast him if he hadn’t also wanted to snog him senseless more times than he could count.

Malfoy finally pulled back from the kiss, his lips swollen and his pupils blown. The two men stared at each other, breathing heavily; minutes or hours could have passed, Harry didn’t know. His arm still rested lightly on Malfoy’s waist.

Finally, Malfoy took a large step back, breaking their physical contact entirely. “Please move.”

Harry didn’t understand. “What?”

“You’re blocking the door and I would like to leave.” 

“Uh, oh.” Harry stepped to the side. He had bollocked this up, he knew it. It would probably be all over the _Prophet_ tomorrow morning.

Malfoy opened the door and took one step out of the room before stopping, his hand still on the knob. Without turning around he said, “I’ll be back here tomorrow. You better not ruin my pull again.” He walked away without saying another word.

Harry smiled to himself—he would be back tomorrow too.

~

Harry arrived at the club early again. Not quite opening time since he knew Malfoy wouldn’t be there that early, but still well over an hour before he expected Malfoy to show. He sat at the bar and had a few drinks while he waited, watching the door for a flash of platinum.

He had dressed simply today: ripped jeans (no briefs) and a t-shirt. He didn’t know what exactly was going to happen, but he wanted to be easily accessible for anything. He was on his fourth whisky when Malfoy entered.

Harry’s jaw dropped. Malfoy was wearing purple denim shorts so short that the pocket linings showed below the hemline, a neon pink mesh crop top, and matching pink suspenders. His skin sparkled with the sheen of body glitter and he wore a full face of makeup. 

It felt like time stopped as all conversations halted and everyone looked toward the door at the radiant spectacle that had just glided through the front door. Malfoy had obviously dressed for attention and Harry felt a confusing mix of annoyance, mirth, incredulity, and white-hot lust.

Malfoy stood just inside the door, gazing around like he was already unimpressed, until his gaze locked with Harry’s. Malfoy smirked at Harry before walking in the other direction to approach a man that was very obviously ogling him. 

A flare of jealousy flashed within Harry as Malfoy allowed the other man to hug him and nuzzle his neck, laughing at something the man said while suggestively running his hand up and down the man’s right bicep. Harry abandoned his drink at the bar and stalked over to Malfoy.

“Malfoy.” 

The blond’s head turned, still maintaining his embrace with the other man. “Yes?” he said, his bored drawl so intimately familiar Harry felt goose flesh rise on his arms.

Harry practically growled. “I need to speak with you.”

Malfoy turned his back to Harry so his words were muffled. “I’m busy.” He leaned into the random bloke, laughing again.

“Draco.” Harry’s voice was husky and low. He grinned and mentally awarded himself a point when he saw Draco shiver before he whipped his head around to glare at Harry.

Harry raised both eyebrows and spread his hands in question, waiting for Draco’s next move. Draco rolled his eyes and made a sound of frustration in his throat before pushing himself away from the random bloke and turning to Harry.

Harry gasped when Draco rapidly approached and slid both hands into his hair, tugging his head ever so slightly upwards so his mouth was in easy reach of Draco’s slightly taller frame. The world dissolved around Harry as Draco plundered his mouth, his silky tongue somehow touching nowhere and everywhere simultaneously, while his hands clutched and tugged at Harry’s hair.

Harry had never been kissed like this. He didn’t even know kisses like this existed; he felt it everywhere. He had always assumed the movies were exaggerating when they played sweeping orchestral music and showed shots of fireworks when the two protagonists finally kissed at the end after dancing around each other for ninety minutes. But this kiss… well, this kiss tilted the world’s axis—now he believed the movies were playing it too safe.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, groggy with a literal siege of emotions. Belatedly, he registered that Draco had let go of his hair and was walking away from him, toward the back hallway. Harry heard the random bloke murmur _what the fuck_ as he unconsciously turned to follow Draco.

“Check and mate,” he whispered, not at all displeased that Draco had beat him at this game.

Harry turned into the hallway and saw Draco framed in a doorway about halfway down. He strode down the hall and backed Draco into the room, slamming the door behind them. Without thinking, he flung his hand behind him and threw a Locking Charm in place. 

“Show off,” Draco said.

Harry glanced down and pointedly looked at the straining bulge in Draco’s shorts. “You don’t seem to hate it.”

“Oh shut up, wanker.” Then Draco was on him, kissing and nibbling, his hands everywhere—Harry thought he would explode. “I’m so glad to see you aren’t as dense now as you were in school.”

Draco began sucking on Harry’s neck like he hadn’t just insulted him. “Oi! I was not dense in school!” Harry said.

Draco stopped sucking and licked the spot before leaning back and looking Harry in the eyes. “You’re here now, that’s proof you aren’t as dense. You never got my hints at Hogwarts.” Draco ran his hands under the hemline of Harry’s shirt, his touch sending sparks of pleasure along his skin.

Draco fancied him during their Hogwarts days? If he had known… well, this could have happened so much sooner. “Bugger.”

He didn’t have time to dwell further on this new knowledge because Draco had just unzipped his jeans and grasped his cock. Harry moaned and leaned into Draco’s shoulder, tilting his head down to watch Draco’s slender, pale fingers wrap around his thick cock. Harry was so hard it was nearly painful; he was going to need Draco to stop or he was going to come way too soon.

Harry lightly grasped Draco’s chin and kissed him deeply on the lips before licking and biting a trail down his neck then across his collarbone to the middle of his chest, where he started downwards until he was on his knees. He looked up at Draco and held his breath at the sight before him: Draco’s hair was mussed and his lips swollen, his pupils so blown his eyes were nearly black, and his jaw so sharp Harry thought he could cut himself on it.

He unbuttoned Draco’s shorts and pulled them open, the zip was so short it readily spread at the slightest tug. Draco was wearing a jock underneath, his cock straining in the small patch of fabric. Harry slid the fabric cover of the jock aside and immediately engulfed Draco’s cock when it popped free. 

Draco grabbed a handful of Harry’s hair and thrust into his mouth, forcing his cock further back into Harry’s throat until he gagged. Harry’s cock jumped and a burst of precum surged out; he grabbed his cock and squeezed, trying to keep himself in check. Draco thrust in one last time and then pulled out quickly. Harry looked up at him in a daze, saliva coating his chin.

“Salazar’s sake, you look good like this.” Draco said as he wiped a string of spit from Harry’s chin. Harry’s brows drew together in confusion when Draco, in one lithe movement, lifted his right foot and forcefully nudged Harry’s shoulder, knocking him off balance and causing him to fall back on his arse.

“Wha—”

Draco nudged him again, hard, with his foot. “Lay down.”

Harry shuddered in arousal and immediately dropped onto his back. His mouth watered as he watched Draco shimmy out of his tiny shorts—leaving the jock on, he noted—and then turn around. He made a show of lowering himself to his knees, his arse spread and on full display as he lifted Harry’s shirt and bent down, kissing and licking Harry’s abdomen.

Harry was mesmerized by Draco’s perfect, rosy hole. He lifted his head and licked the puckered flesh, running his tongue in a quick circle around the rim. Draco hissed and instinctively pushed back, lowering his arse onto Harry’s face. He slowly undulated as Harry revelled in eating him out, his hands coming up to clutch Draco’s hips, pressing him down harder.

Draco rode Harry’s face for a few minutes before sharply bending down, causing his arse to lift out of Harry’s reach. Harry’s protest died on his lips when Draco swallowed his cock, deepthroating it in one swift move. Harry’s back arched as he keened in pleasure. He lifted his head and saw Draco pushing his own cock back, angling it towards Harry’s mouth without even looking.

Harry gladly wrapped his lips around Draco’s shaft. It didn’t take long before they were moving in perfect tandem. Harry was overwhelmed. He had never sucked off a guy while he was also getting sucked off and he felt like every nerve ending was on fire. Draco appeared to have no gag reflex and no need to breathe based on how often Harry felt his own cock down the man’s throat.

Harry wasn’t sure if he was giving even half as good for Draco as he was getting, but he licked and sucked with wild abandon. The room echoed with their muted grunts and groans and the occasional piercing slurp. 

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled Draco’s cock out of his mouth and yelled out, “I’m going to come, I’m—” Draco had sucked his cock down his throat and swallowed and Harry exploded. Blood rushed in his ears and his vision exploded with stars as he came, pumping great spurts of cum down Draco’s throat. Harry twitched with every violent pump of his cock.

Draco took it like a pro and continued to intermittently swallow around Harry’s cock, milking his orgasm until his cock stopped throbbing. Draco slurped off of Harry’s cock and took a deep breath before pushing his cock into Harry’s mouth and fucking it in earnest. It was so much rougher than Harry had ever experienced before, but he felt exhilarated in a way he never had. 

Before long, Draco was moaning loudly and pumping his own load into Harry’s mouth. The taste of him was sharp and salty and Harry instantly knew he would never, even in four lifetimes, get enough of this taste. Once Draco was spent, he rolled over to the side and they lay next to each other on the floor, breathing heavily.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Draco said.

“I don’t think I even know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Harry replied.

Draco sat up then and straightened his jock before grabbing his shorts. Standing up quickly, he pulled his shorts on and walked to the door. Harry sat up. “Where are you going so fast?”

“Potter. We both know this isn’t a good idea.” And before Harry could even form a response, he was gone.

~*~

“You wanna know wha’s—wha’s really stupid?” Harry was stretched sloppily across the bar at Carouse, talking to no one in particular. “He like, he came onto _ME_. And then he just—” Harry swept his hand across the bar to illustrate how quickly Draco had left the room, but instead of making his point, he knocked over three glasses.

In his attempt to pick up the glasses, he managed to knock over another one and a mixer bottle that was just behind the bar. 

“Alright mate, you’re cut off,” the barkeep said as he came over and deftly cleaned the mess Harry had just created. 

“I’ve barely had anythin’!” Harry insisted. The barkeep looked at him pointedly and Harry purposely pursed his lips and looked away.

“Harry, mate. You’ve been here every night this week complaining about the same bloke who left you in a room. I have a novel idea: _talk to him!_ ” 

Harry squawked out an incredulous laugh. “I DON’T KNOW HOW TO CONTACT HIM, _JIM_!” Harry shouted. “DID YOU FORGET THAT PART OF THE STORY?”

Jim did not look amused. “Alright, I’m calling you a taxi.”

~

Harry woke the next morning with a splitting headache. He really needed to stop drinking so much; headaches this frequent couldn’t be good for his brain and he didn’t even want to think about his liver.

Fortunately, he also woke up with Jim the barkeep’s words ‘talk to him’ echoing in his head—of course he had considered that, he just had no way to contact him. When Draco had not shown at the club the night after their encounter Harry had been disappointed, but he managed to convince himself that Draco had a prior commitment he just hadn’t mentioned.

When he didn’t show the second night, Harry had a harder time convincing himself. He had contacted Draco through his business number (provided by Hermione) and though the machine picked up the call, it didn’t have an outgoing message stating that Draco was out of the office. Harry left a dozen messages.

The third night, he began to doubt his own sanity. He could have easily believed the entire encounter had been some kind of psychotic break—if he wasn’t still finding glitter all over himself and his clothing. Alas, every mirror he passed revealed at least one taunting, glittery speck.

Last night, while hanging out of the door of the taxi and chundering on the side of the road, he had had an epiphany—he knew how he could find Draco AND make sure he couldn’t be ignored.

~*~

This time, Harry was prepared. He found some old business robes and a weird hat that vaguely resembled the hats members of the Wizengamot wore in one of the closets in Grimmauld. He was going to the Ministry again and did not want to even remotely risk being recognized—he wasn’t exactly going there for something legal.

He dressed in the musty robes and paced the parlour, going through his plan step by step. He needed to gain access to the Private Records department, specifically the property records. Every Magical person in Britain had to register all residences and businesses with the Ministry. Assuming Draco lived in Britain, which seemed very likely, Harry would find him.

The only problem was getting in there. Private records were under much more supervision and protection than public records and getting through without being detected would be nearly impossible. But, Harry had no choice. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. “The Ministry!” he shouted before jumping in, rushing so as not to give himself a chance to back out.

Harry exited the Floo within the Ministry and walked nonchalantly, but purposely, through the atrium and to the lifts. No one seemed to pay him mind, but he kept his head down and stayed as inconspicuous as possible anyway. The lift stopped at the Private Records department and Harry looked out in alarm: the reception desk entirely blocked all entries into the back and the area was crawling with employees. 

He opted to stay on the lift and wait until the next stop, which happened to be the staff cafeteria. He walked to a rarely used corner of the space and sat. He had to come up with a new plan. His foot bounced rapidly while he racked his brain to come up with a way to get what he needed—abandoning this was not an option. Suddenly, he had an idea; it may not work, but it was certainly worth a shot.

He sat up straight and whispered, “Dirly?”

Within seconds, the House Elf that had previously helped Harry appeared before him. “Hello Mister Potter, you be needing help?”

Harry felt like he had a pit in his stomach as he stared at Dirly. He knew this wasn’t right to ask of her… but, he had no choice, right? “Dirly, can you get a copy of a private property record for me?”

“Dirly can, Sir.” She stared at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

_God, I’m a monster,_ Harry thought. “Okay, great. You see, no one else can know about this though, is that okay?”

“Dirly can be trusted, Sir. Dirly knows to never tell what Dirly sees.”

That statement unnerved Harry, but he pressed forward. “I need a copy of the address to the private residence of Draco Malfoy.”

“Dirly will get it.” She disappeared with a snap and Harry rested his head in his hands, supported by his elbows on the table. He felt despicable, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that this would all be worth it if he could just figure out what was happening with Malfoy.

Dirly reappeared with a muted _crack_ and placed a piece of paper in front of Harry. It had a London address on it, _thank Merlin_ , and would be easy enough to find. Harry’s eyes ran over the numbers of the address multiple times until he knew he had them memorized.

Minutes later, when Harry finally glanced up again, he was surprised to see Dirly still standing next to him. “Oh! Sorry Dirly. Thank you so much for this, you were brilliant.”

“Dirly needs no thanks. Dirly likes helping.” They looked at each other for a moment longer. “Will Mister Potter be going home now?”

Harry blushed. “Er… yeah, I am actually. C-could you maybe take me again?”

“Dirly will.” She grabbed his sleeve and within seconds he was in his parlour wishing Dirly a good day and thanking her profusely. 

It was just past 2:00 pm and Harry didn’t plan to check Malfoy’s home until later in the evening. He quickly changed out of the old robes into joggers and a tee and then heated up some leftover curry and poured himself a tall Firewhisky before dropping onto the couch to eat, drink, and watch telly until it was time to go.

~

Harry Apparated into an alley that was just a few blocks from the address listed on the paper Dirly had given him. It was close to the city limit, just where the houses started spacing out and transitioned from flats and terraced houses to cottages and bungalows. It was an expensive area which afforded easy access to central London while also allowing for more living space and privacy. Of course Malfoy would live in this area.

Harry walked slowly towards the address. Now that he was actually doing this, he was getting nervous—he hadn’t quite planned what he was going to say when he showed up to Draco’s home uninvited. At this point, he was just going to have to wing it.

Harry reached the address and had to double-check his paper to make sure he was at the correct place. The cottage before him was… cute. Harry had assumed that any house Malfoy lived in would be just as gloomy and cold as Malfoy Manor.

This cottage, however, glowed with warmth: the front garden exploded with colourful and fragrant flowers, ivy crawled up the ivory stone exterior, and warm golden light spilled from the windows into the early evening dark. It looked exactly like the kind of home Harry had always dreamed of living in as a child.

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry started up the short path to the front door. He was sure he had the right address when he crossed into the protective wards surrounding the house and he felt the innate hum of magic. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry lifted his hand and knocked.

He waited for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was less than twenty seconds, before he knocked again, louder this time. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his anxiety ratcheting up with every second that passed. He had just raised his fist to knock again when the door opened and Draco stood in front of him, arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“How do you know where I live?”

“You’re avoiding me.” _Shit._ Harry had not intended that to sound so petulant.

Draco leaned against the doorframe and apathetically preened his fingernails. “My address is not listed in any public information source.” His eyes lazily lifted from his fingertips to meet Harry’s gaze, the implication in his look making Harry squirm.

Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. “Fine. I had… someone procure it for me.” 

Draco’s nostrils flared as he pushed away from the doorframe. “This is precisely _why_ I told you that this,” he gestured between the two of them, “was not a good idea! You obviously still have your head shoved so far up your own arse that I wouldn’t be able to fit my cock in there even if I wanted to!” 

Harry winced and looked around as Draco’s voice continued to rise in volume. “Can’t we talk about this inside?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed at Harry. “Why? This is a huge violation, Potter.”

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t have had to do it if you hadn’t just sucked my dick and run the other night!” Harry was the one shouting now and he didn’t fail to notice Draco’s eyes flitting to both of his neighbour’s houses.

“Fine,” Draco hissed, stepping to the side and indicating for Harry to enter.

Harry paused just inside the door to take in the front room of the cottage: it was more spacious than the outside indicated and exuded the same comfortable warmth. The longer Harry looked, the more he found traces of the Malfoy he knew: an elaborate gilded mirror, an armchair that looked like it was made of velvet, and some very pretentious art pieces. 

“Are you going to actually come in or are you planning to just stand in the doorway and gawk at my parlour?”

“Oh.” Harry rushed forward and awkwardly sat on the sofa. Draco closed the front door and followed Harry into the room, perching on the velvet armchair. Harry waited to see if Draco was going to say anything, or perhaps offer him a drink, but he just sat staring at Harry.

“Right.” Harry coughed nervously and shifted forward on the couch. “I need to talk to you.” He paused again, watching Draco expectantly. He hurried to continue when Draco said nothing. “Er, well, I thought that you enjoyed, uh… reconnecting the other day as much as I did. So, you can understand my surprise that I haven’t seen you again. And, well, I really wanted to see you again.”

Draco sighed. “Look Potter, even you should realize that a relationship is not in the cards for us. Think of what the _Prophet_ would say, think of what Granger and Weasley would say—not to mention my mother—it simply wouldn’t work. I thought it best that whatever barmy thing we did in the club ended before things got messy, okay?” Draco stood and walked to his door, opening it and sweeping an arm outside. “You’ve got your answer, please leave.”

Harry stood and slowly approached Draco. Without saying a word, he reached behind him and nudged the door closed before crowding Draco against it. He placed both hands against the door on either side of Draco’s head, caging him in, before leaning in close to whisper, “I never mentioned a relationship, _Malfoy_. I simply wasn’t done reconnecting.” Harry outlined the shell of Draco’s ear with his tongue, noting the shiver that ran down Draco’s body.

“Oh, blast it.” Draco said before clutching Harry’s shirt in his hands and pulling him into a bruising kiss. Draco walked Harry backwards, maintaining the kiss until Harry bumped against the edge of the couch. Draco ripped his mouth from Harry’s and the two men stared at each other, their breathing heavy.

Harry smirked. “What’s the problem, Malfoy... scared?” 

Draco narrowed his eyes before beginning to unbutton his shirt. “I don’t think talking will be necessary tonight.”

Harry smiled and ripped his own shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor and immediately unbuttoning his jeans. Draco had taken a few paces back to give them each more room to disrobe, but now stood motionless, staring hungrily at Harry.

Watching Draco, Harry slowly pushed his trousers and pants down. He tracked Draco’s eyes as they drank in each newly exposed inch of Harry’s flesh until his cock snapped free. Harry quickly shoved his jeans the rest of the way off in one push and stepped out of them, lightly kicking them to the side. He strode confidently to Draco and grasped his cheeks to pull him into a heated kiss. Draco whimpered at the contact and the sound went straight to Harry’s cock. 

Suddenly, like a dam had burst, Draco was in control: he pushed Harry backwards so that he fell onto the couch and then pulled his wand from his trouser pocket. Harry’s heart skipped a beat and he visibly tensed at the sudden movement, his eyes going wide.

“Seriously, Potter? I’m not going to hurt you—at least not without your consent.” Draco smiled wryly, one eyebrow lifting suggestively.

Logically, Harry understood and appreciated the sexy joke, but he still felt tense and panicky. He didn’t want to ruin the night so he forced a smile onto his face and tried to laugh his awkwardness off, the sound coming out strained. 

Draco stopped moving and searched Harry’s face with his eyes—Harry saw the exact moment Draco understood what had happened and he opened his mouth to stave off the inevitable pitying placations when Draco interrupted him.

“I’m going to cast four quick charms: cleansing, protection, loosening—that one is for me—and lubrication. Then I am going to set my wand on the coffee table.” Before Harry even had a chance to deny he needed special treatment, Draco was halfway through the charms and had already turned his back to Harry.

Draco set his wand on the table and then pulled off his trousers slowly, bending at the waist so his entire arse spread bare right at Harry’s eye level. The tantalizing sight of Draco’s hole, puffy and pliable from the charm, chased all remaining nerves from Harry’s brain.

Draco stood and turned to face Harry again, his hand lazily pumping his own cock. He stood there for long moments, his lips slanting in a smug smile as Harry’s mouth dropped open. Draco was gorgeous; his skin was pure, smooth porcelain, punctuated by patches of soft pink as his lips, cheeks, and cock flushed.

Draco stalked forward and slid into Harry’s lap, his knees coming to rest on either side of Harry’s abdomen. Harry immediately took charge and grasped both of their cocks in his hand, pumping them together as Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s hair and kissed him, their tongues moving in an unconscious, erotic dance.

Harry was already close, but luckily, it seemed that Draco was just as fevered as Harry. Lifting higher and reaching behind him, he grasped the top of Harry’s cock and directed it to his hole, rubbing the tip of Harry’s cock around the outside before pressing it in and slowly lowering back down.

Harry’s head lolled back as Draco’s tight heat enveloped his cock. He had squeezed his eyes closed tightly in an attempt to delay his orgasm that was still teetering on the edge, so it came as somewhat of a surprise and he swore loudly when Draco immediately started riding him, hard. 

Draco’s movements were small and precise, his hips rolling back and forth so that Harry’s cock slid in and out of him with practised ease. Draco leaned forward and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, his back curved to allow space for him to reach his own cock, which he was pumping vigorously.

The only thing Harry could do was grip Draco’s hips and hold on tightly as Draco rode him, chasing his own pleasure. Draco had started softly grunting with each slide in, the noises becoming more and more desperate. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Harry started thrusting upwards, meeting Draco’s smooth glides, and the added force pushed him over the edge. He cried out with each hot spurt, his fingers curling painfully into Draco’s flesh, leaving little half-moon indentions in the skin. 

Draco ground down on Harry’s cock and leaned back, his hand resting on one of Harry’s knees as he arched his back and chased his own release in earnest. Harry bit his lip as Draco’s walls clenched around his cock, the sensation skating the edge of pleasure and pain. He noted that Draco was watching himself come, watching his jizz land across Harry’s taut stomach in small bands and blotches, and Harry shuddered in pleasure.

Draco lazily lifted up and down Harry’s shaft a few more times, each of them milking the pleasure for as long as they could stand. Breathing heavily, he let Harry’s cock slip out of his arse before he sat on his lap to rest. 

Neither man said a word, the sound of their breathing turning from ragged to calm the only sound in the house. After a few minutes, Draco pulled himself off of Harry and stood. “I’m going to shower, can you see yourself out?”

Harry didn’t say anything for a long moment, but finally indicated he could. Draco nodded and padded towards a hallway Harry had not explored, where the washroom presumably was. Harry cast _Scourgify_ on himself and dressed quickly before slipping quietly out the door.

~

The next two weeks blurred in Harry’s mind, every day bleeding into the next as he did the same three things in varying percentages: sleep, drink, Draco.

Draco obviously worked, so Harry couldn’t visit him during the day, which was just as well because Harry typically didn’t even wake up until mid-afternoon. He was still intent on spending his days drinking and watching telly—it was a heck of a combination that allowed him to completely block out the world—but it always led to him staying awake into the wee hours of the morning, steadily drinking until he would pass out. It was a deep-rooted cycle that he didn’t care to correct.

Unfortunately, his favourite part of the routine—the fairly recent addition of Draco for a few blissful hours at night—had also become a constant source of stress. The first couple of times Harry had shown up at Draco’s drunk, he hadn’t said anything, but it soon became apparent that it was more of a pattern than a fluke. 

Harry had tried to explain that he didn’t intentionally get drunk every day; he just didn’t have anything else that he needed or wanted to do. Draco had tried giving him advice, even mentioning a Mind Healer before Harry cut him off and told him he didn’t want or need his self-righteous help.

Harry tried though: when he arrived at Draco’s the night after their spat, he was barely even tipsy. Same the next night. But the night after that he had slipped a little and was quite drunk. The next two times were the same. Draco didn’t bring it up again and Harry purposely didn’t think about it.

That is, until last night. He had arrived at Draco’s feeling particularly full of himself and had come onto Draco immediately, throwing himself at the blond and peppering him with kisses, his hands roaming everywhere.

Draco had pushed him off and at first, Harry thought he was kidding around, but one look at his frosty expression had Harry’s buzz crashing hard. Draco had told him that he was tired of being the person Harry came to for a drunk shag and that their arrangement was no longer working. 

To his ongoing embarrassment, Harry had begged Draco for another chance, had told him he would start coming earlier in the evening, that he would try again to drink less—he had promised everything.

Except the one thing Draco wanted, apparently. 

Harry had stumbled home and stayed awake the rest of the night, gulping Firewhisky. 

Now, Harry was still on the sofa sipping Firewhisky. After drinking through the night, he had passed out on his couch around dawn but was woken just hours later by an incessant tapping on his parlour window. He had gotten sick on the way to the window but finally managed to get the letter from the owl. 

He groggily cleaned the sick from his floor with a flick of his wand while he opened the letter, looking at it with just one open eye. It took Harry a moment to wake up enough to comprehend the note, but finally he was able to read it. 

He set the note on the sofa next to him and sicked up again before staggering to his washroom to get a Hangover potion and some Paracetamol. Feeling loads better, he collapsed back onto the couch and picked up the whisky bottle.

The note was from Robards. He was passive-aggressively checking in on Harry, wondering why he had not been to the Mind Healer even once in the last six weeks he had been on leave. For the first time, Robards mentioned that maybe Harry ought to look for a job better suited to him. He didn’t know why, but the note made Harry’s skin crawl.

Harry _Accio’d_ a fresh bottle of Firewhisky and twisted it open, tossing the cap somewhere behind him and taking a large gulp. For the rest of the day, he alternated between burning swigs of whisky and the utter oblivion of sleep.

~

When Harry next woke, the room was pitch dark. He was so intensely dizzy that he had no sense of direction and couldn’t even tell if he was on a solid surface or just floating in a black void. The sharp tang of panic stung in his throat as he tried to remember where he was. He started scrambling around and screamed when he fell off of something and landed hard on the floor, the breath knocked out of him. 

In his growing panic, he tried to stand and screamed when his left shoulder slammed against a hard edge, knocking him off balance again, his arms buckling under him. He froze then, completely immobilized by fear. His heart was pounding too fast and he couldn’t breathe. 

He truly thought this was it: The Boy Who Lived was about to be The Boy Who Died. He lay on the floor, curled in a fetal position and slowly faded from consciousness.

~

_Harry! Harry, come on mate, wake up. Harry! Come on, Harry!_

Harry cracked one swollen eye open before slamming it closed again, hissing in pain.

“Oh thank Merlin!”

“Harry, I’m giving you a potion, don’t fight it.”

He coughed as a foul-tasting liquid was poured into his mouth and his head was tilted back to force the liquid down. He heard a voice speaking to him as if from across a room, telling him he was going to be moved. Then, he heard nothing as he slipped back into sleep.

~*~

It was 10:00 am on a crisp Saturday morning that found Harry standing in the lane in front of Draco Malfoy’s house. He smoothed out his new jumper and took a deep breath. He was here to apologize but he didn’t know if Draco would hear him out.

It had been three weeks since Harry thought he was going to die. A severe case of alcohol poisoning very well could have killed him if Ron had not happened to stop by his house early the next morning to have a quick breakfast and chat with him. Later, Ron would say he felt an overwhelming need to see Harry that day, even though he was positive he would find him in bed. Fortunately for Harry, Ron had listened to his gut and saved him once again.

That had been the last straw for Harry. He could no longer lie to himself that he was coping with life just fine—he had almost killed himself. Hermione had been next to his bed when he woke and he asked her to help him get an appointment with the Mind Healer.

He ended up spending two weeks in a private ward at St Mungo’s getting intensive therapy and support through alcohol withdrawal. He still had a long road ahead of him, but for the first time it felt like a road he chose for himself.

He quit the Aurors. He didn’t have another career lined up just yet, but he had enough money to live comfortably while he explored his options. Hermione and Ron had helped him clear Grimmauld of all alcohol and he had even started working on cleaning and remodelling the rooms he used most. His life was getting back on track.

Except for one area: Draco. He had talked about Draco extensively with his Mind Healer and Hermione and Ron over the past three weeks. Ron had been appalled when Harry first told him that he fancied Draco, but nevertheless he was supportive of anyone that made Harry happy, even if that someone was a pretentious git. 

Taking another deep breath, Harry marched up the front garden path and knocked on Draco’s door before he could chicken out. He waited for at least a full minute before knocking again. Another minute passed and Harry pursed his lips. He considered knocking a third time but decided that not answering was likely Draco’s nice way of rejecting him.

He turned to leave and got one step off the front stoop when he heard the door open. Harry spun around and smiled radiantly at Draco, who stood in the doorway with his arms crossed and his face guarded.

Harry dipped his head in humility before climbing the stoop again and saying, “I need to apologise.” He paused, waiting for Draco to respond. When he didn’t, Harry continued. “I recognise, now, that I have a drinking problem. I was ok living like that, drowning every thought and feeling I had in alcohol… until you.” 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I’m seeing a Mind Healer and I’m three weeks sober. It’s still really hard and my life is still very complicated and I know you don’t think we should be together—but Draco, you’ve given me a reason to get better.” Harry rushed to add, “And it’s not _just_ you, I’m not, like, unhealthily obsessed with you or anything, don’t misunderstand.” Harry paused a moment to breathe in and out slowly, stopping his ramble.

“I just mean that I really enjoyed the time I spent with you, and half that time I don’t even remember anything about it, just that you made me feel good. I think that’s worth exploring; that is, if you feel the same.” Harry cringed; he had really assumed a lot here.

The two men stared at each other for a beat before Draco said, “Would you like some tea, Harry?”

Harry grinned so wide his mouth hurt. He followed Draco into his house and through the parlour to the quaint kitchen. Draco directed Harry to a kitchen chair and then turned on the kettle. He leaned against the kitchen counter and regarded Harry silently. 

Harry didn’t squirm this time. He wasn’t hiding anything, not from Draco, and more importantly, not from himself.

Finally, Draco spoke. “I bet Weasley lost his mind, didn’t he?” 

Draco couldn’t hold back a grin and Harry laughed. “Who says I told him?”

“Oh please, you’ve never done a thing in your life without telling Weasley and Granger.” The kettle whistled and Draco poured the hot water into two mugs before bringing them to the table and pulling his tea container closer to them, gesturing for Harry to pick his preferred blend.

“Well, he was proper shocked, but after some aggressive elbowing from Hermione he came around.”

“Hm. Well, that’s anti-climactic.” The two men sat in companionable silence while their tea steeped. “So, where are you taking me first, Potter?” 

Harry smirked at Draco and took a sip of tea—this is exactly what he needed. 


End file.
